


The Other Side

by darke_wulf



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darke_wulf/pseuds/darke_wulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for <a href="http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5609025">this prompt</a>:  <br/>Bilbo/Thranduil - Aw man there isn't enough of this pairing in my opinion.  I'm up for anything minus non-con.</p>
<p>Also a prequel to my fill "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/633929/chapters/1197604">Come Not Back</a>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm not making money from them._
> 
> _Author’s Note: This will be AU to Tolkien’s book – Thorin, Fili and Kili all survived the Battle of Five Armies. I’m also playing a bit loose with canon when it comes to the interactions between the wood elves and the dwarves of Erebor, but given what the movie insinuated, I don’t think it’s a huge stretch. Also playing fast and loose with the timeline of Middle Earth a bit._

It began in a throne room, deep in the heart of Eryn Galen, or what had come to be called Mirkwood in the Common tongue. It was here that Bilbo Baggins first realized that to every story, there are indeed two sides.

Bilbo stood helplessly and watched as his companions were dragged off by the wood elves, to be imprisoned on the orders of the King of the wood elves, Thranduil. He ached to follow after them, but there was too great a chance of accidentally running into someone in the press of struggling bodies. And so he stood in a shadowed corner of the room, waiting for an opportunity to leave without being noticed.

As he waited, he studied Thranduil, considering what he’d been told and what he’d just seen. To that point, Bilbo had not been impressed with either, forgetting that Thorin, whom he now considered a dear friend, had not presented the best of first impressions either. 

Finally the throne room had been cleared of all but the King and Prince Legolas. Then, much to Bilbo’s surprise, a second side of the ruler made itself known.

Thranduil closed his eyes and released a large sigh, relaxing back into his throne. “Cursed dwarves.”

Legolas stepped around the throne so that he was able to face his father. “I suspect they feel the same way towards us, Father.”

A small, though genuine, smile tilted the edges of Thranduil’s lips. “That I do not doubt, though they would most likely choose courser language with which to relay their opinions.” He sighed again, the smile falling from his face, and regarded his son solemnly. “Make sure they are fed and any wounds they have treated. And have the guards watch for lingering effects of those vile spiders’ toxins”

“Of course.”

“Have Tauriel increase the patrols as well. It was fourteen our guards witnessed traveling along the Forest Road, yet only thirteen now reside in our dungeons.” A huge weight fell off Bilbo's shoulders when he heard this, and realized that Thorin must also be a prisoner, rather than still lost out in the forest. His curiosity, however, overwhelmed even that feeling, peaked as it was by by this unexpected conversation happening before him.

“Hopefully the final member of their company isn’t still in the hands of the spiders.”

“No, I do not believe that to be the case, my son. You said that the dwarves had already escaped from the spiders when you found them.”

“Yes. They were all collapsed back in the clearing upon which they had intruded last night.”

“You know first-hand how viciously the spiders guard their prey. Looking upon them now, there are none among them that could have fought their way free of the beasts without aid. I suspect that their fourteenth somehow managed to avoid being dosed with the spiders’ venom, and thus was able to both free his companions from the spiders but also avoid our men.”

“If that is the case, we will find him. He must be skulking about near the castle, assuming he hopes to once more rescue his company.”

Legolas paused then, fidgeting nervously for a few seconds before he straightened his back and regarded his king frankly. “What do you intend to do with them, Father?”

“I have not yet decided. It is obvious they intend to make an assault on Erebor in the hopes of taking back their former kingdom. My preference would be for the dragon to remain in residence, if the other option be a return of the House of Durin to the throne.”

“You cannot be speaking truth! Thorin is neither is father nor grandfather. Surely he would not make the same mistakes as they, not after seeing what resulted?”

“The entire _line_ is cursed. Thorin stood at his grandsire’s side and watched without comment or protest as Thror forced tributes from us under threat of war. For years we were caught between a gold-mad dwarf king and the darkness that has been slowly building in Dol Guldur. I am not upset to see that danger halved.”

“I would not say a dragon on our borders is a danger halved.”

“A dragon that has not been seen for over sixty years. It is true that should the Dark Lord rise again he could call upon the dragon to join his ranks, but should Thorin or his kin take the throne we will have a certain enemy on our steps, not a hypothetical one.”

“Their hatred of us is not without cause. We did not come to their aid when the dragon attacked.”

“You were not there that day, my Son; you did not see the crazed look in their eyes. The madness had a hold of them all on that day. Had I led our soldiers to them, they would have insisted upon attempting to take back Erebor, obviously futile though it was. Our people would have died by the scores.”

“We gave them no aid in the aftermath, either.”

“And who would you have had go hungry, for us to provide for them? Assisting the men of Dale survive and resettle in Esgaroth used up all our extra stores; and Dale at least had not attempted to strip us of all of our gold and treasure. Which is more than I can say for the dwarves. I would not ask our people to suffer and go hungry for their like.” The King had resumed his stiff posture during his speech, and now he gestured towards the door with one negligent wave. “Now go, see to our guests and have Tauriel set her men towards finding the remaining trespasser.”

Legolas bowed, his golden hair falling forward over his shoulders. “As you command, my King.” 

“I do what I must to protect our people, Legolas. They come first, in all things.”

Legolas’ smile was melancholy as he replied, “I know you do what you think best, Father. And I will follow your orders. But do not expect me to do so without questioning them; you did not raise me to behave as such.”

“No,” Thranduil acknowledged, reaching out to run a hand through his son’s hair, “I did not. And for good reason. Your inquisitive nature and kind heart will one day make a great king, my son. You make me proud.”

“Thank you,” Legloas replied, his smile brightening into a pleased grin that reminded Bilbo sharply of Fíli when he received praise from Thorin. 

Thranduil pulled his hand back and, with one final bow, Legolas left the throne room, leaving the king alone save for the invisible Bilbo. “Cursed dwarves,” the king repeated, then rose from his throne and left through a different door located behind the throne.

Seizing the opportunity, Bilbo carefully left in the direction the dwarves had been dragged, though his mind was picking apart the scene he had just witnessed, and the new information he had discovered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm not making money from them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry for the delay. I was traveling for work, then got sick, then realized whilst traveling for work I had managed to lose the flash drive on which I keep all my stories. And of course, it’s been a couple weeks since I last backed it up. So all my current WIPs were lost. Which put my muses into a state of depression from which they are only now – very slowly - starting to pull themselves :-P_
> 
> **Bold text are direct quotes – or nearly so – from “The Hobbit”**

It continues on a desolate soon-to-be battlefield in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain.

Thranduil released a deep, world-weary sigh as he gazed out over the fires that dotted the darkened plain, marking the armies of elves and Men camped for the night before the gates of Erebor. As he had predicted, the line of Durin continued to know only greed and deceit, the great King Under the Mountain refusing to part with any treasure found in his halls, regardless of the legitimacy of the claims put forward. 

Thranduil found the request of the Men of Lake Town beyond reasonable. He had been curious to find the small band setting up an encampment outside the mountain when he and his warriors had arrived. He had brought his army expecting to find a newly-riled dragon raging, destroying all in its path. Finding that the dragon had already been killed was a pleasant surprise. He and Legolas had met with the one called Bard, who had felled the beast, and heard the complete tale from his own lips.

As it had been a man of Lake Town that had killed the dragon, and as it had been their town that had been once again ravaged and destroyed by said dragon – after dwarves had once again stirred its ire, it seemed fair to Thranduil that recompenses be paid for services rendered and losses suffered.

When Bard had began muttering over the stubborn refusal of the dwarves to lend any aid or monies to assist in the rebuilding of what they and their foolish quest had caused to be demolished, Thranduil had offered to add his numbers to Bard’s in the hopes of making Thorin Oakenshield see reason. Granted, Thranduil had his own demands to make of the dwarven King. 

Now that the dragon was gone, he wanted returned to his people the heirlooms that he had been forced to surrender to the _last_ King of Erebor before this new one gained similar ideas of subjugation. These treasures were not the dwarves to claim, and Thranduil was determined to regain them and make clear to the line of Durin that the elves of Eryn Galen were done bowing to dwarves. Never again would Thranduil let Erebor gain such power over his people. _Never._

And yet even in the face of two armies, the cursed dwarves refused to parley, vowing instead to fight to the death for what surely amounted to a mere fraction of a _fraction_ of the wealth Erebor held. 

May the Valar save him from the avaricious stubbornness of dwarves.

It seemed that the Gold Fever had well and truly taken the dwarves. In this one instance, Thranduil found himself wishing he had been wrong in his skepticism and doubt of the race. Still, unlike that thrice-damned Durin, Thranduil was not willing to risk his kin for gold and treasure. Tomorrow he would attempt to cause Thorin to agree to negotiate one last time. Failing in that, as he was sure he would, he would wash his hands of the entire affair and return with his warriors to Eryn Galen. There were other ways to make clear to the dwarves of Erebor that no fealty would be given them by his elves.

Near silent footsteps brought Thranduil’s attention out of his musings, and he turned to greet his son and his Captain as they approached. Both bowed, then moved to stand before him.

“Your orders have been relayed, your Majesty,” Tauriel told him. “At first light, we will begin preparing to withdraw back to the palace.”

“Good,” Thranduil replied coolly, turning his gaze back out over the field. “We leave by mid-day.”

“It’s possible that the King will finally come to his senses,” Legolas objected, ever positive in his outlook despite the many horrors and evils he had seen and fought in his life. 

Thranduil hoped to never discover what it took to dim the bright light that was his son’s spirit. He never wanted to see the weary cast he knew marred his own countenance reflected on Legolas’ face. His dear son; the most precious remnant of his beloved wife left to him. And yet, he was also his most bitter responsibility, for it had been Legolas’ need for him that had prevented him from fading after his wife had died, killed by orcs many years past. And it was Legolas that kept him from fading even now for Thranduil knew, though he fulfilled his duties as crown prince well, he was not yet ready for the responsibilities of kingship to be placed upon his shoulders. Not while he was still so young, barely into his adulthood by elven reckoning. 

“That is most unlikely,” Thranduil intoned. “But it would certainly be a welcome surprise.”

“My Lord!” 

The sudden cry drew the attention of all three elves. A human runner was rapidly approaching from the main encampment. Thranduil stepped forward slightly, and the soldier knelt before him before relaying his message.

“Your Majesty, Bard requests your presence at his tent. There have been tidings from the mountain.”

Thranduil’s eyebrow rose and he heard Tauriel gasp softly beside him. “Surely Thorin has not suddenly decided to meet? At this late hour?”

“No, my Lord,” the runner replied. “But the hobbit has appeared in the camp and insists on speaking with you and Bard.”

The hobbit. Thranduil’s interest was well and truly caught. He had heard talk of this hobbit, the mysterious fourteenth member of Thorin’s Company, who had somehow managed to spirit the dwarves from Thranduil’s own dungeons with none of his people being the wiser. Unknown to the elven King, his son and Captain shared a quick, amused grin when they caught his usually cold eyes suddenly spark with curiosity.

******

Thus it was that Thranduil found himself in front of Bard’s tent a short time later, watching bemusedly as a small hobbit dressed in elvish armor warmed himself by the fire.

**”Really, you know,” the hobbit began, “things are impossible. Personally I am tired of the whole affair. I wish I was back in the West in my own home, where folk are more reasonable. But I have an interest in this matter – one fourteenth share, to be precise, according to a letter, which fortunately I believe I have kept.”**

Thranduil still wasn’t sure what to think of the little being. There was something in his bearing that, when added to his pointed ears and short stature, reminded him quite fondly of his own Legolas when he had been just a mischievous little elfling (as opposed to a mischievous grown-up elfling). And yet this hobbit – Bilbo Baggins, as he had introduced himself quite properly – was obviously no child. Thranduil had never seen his like in all his many years, and the novelty of that was like a sudden breeze through the forest, gently stirring the leaves and brightening the air.

**“A share in the _profits,_ mind you,” the hobbit continued on. “I am aware of that. Personally I am only too ready to consider all your claims carefully, and deduct what is right from the total before putting in my own claim. However you don’t know Thorin Oakenshield as well as I do now. I assure you, he is quite ready to sit on a heap of gold and starve, as long as you sit here.”**

Thranduil was actual quite familiar with Thorin Oakenshield, and his line. He did not disagree with the hobbit – Bilbo’s assessment, however. He was sure that Thorin would be quite content to starve himself and his kin rather than give up any of ‘his’ precious treasure. 

**”Well let him!” said Bard. “Such a fool deserves to starve.”**

**”Quite so,” said Bilbo. “I see your point of view. At the same time, winter is coming on fast. Before long you will be having snow and what not, and supplies will be difficult – even for elves I imagine. Also there will be other difficulties. You have not heard of Dain and the dwarves of the Iron Hills?”**

When it became clear that Bard, at least, had not, Thranduil cut in, drawing the bright eyes of Bilbo to himself. He did not see fit to correct the hobbit’s assumption that the elves were willing to stay the course until they were remunerated, however. He did not trust this companion of Thorin’s not to go directly to the dwarf with the truth, whatever the current situation appeared.

**“We have, a long time ago; but what has he got to do with us?”**

**“I thought as much. I see I have some information you have not got. Dain, I may tell you, is now less than two days’ march off, and has at least five hundred grim dwarves with him – a good many of them have had experience in the dreadful dwarf and goblin wars, of which you have no doubt heard. When they arrive there may be serious trouble.”**

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he continued to meet the stare of Bilbo. Try as he might, he could not sense any deceit from the hobbit. And yet he did not seem the type to betray friends – even Thranduil, who in confines of his own mind would admit to extreme distrust of others – saw no hint of maliciousness or pusillanimity in him. What on Arda was he trying to accomplish?

**”Why do you tell us this? Are you betraying your friends, or are you threatening us?” asked Bard grimly.**

Thranduil held onto his patience, in spite of the man’s heavy-handed approach. No subtlety, these Men.

**”My dear Bard! Don’t be so hasty! I never met such suspicious folk! I am merely trying to avoid trouble for all concerned. Now I will make you an offer!”**

Thranduil was intrigued, despite himself. **“Let us hear it.”**

**”You may see it!” Bilbo replied. “It is this!”**

So saying, he pulled from his coat a gem with which Thranduil was well familiar. His breath caught in his chest, and a snarl of fury tore across his face. “What trickery is this?” he roared, towering over the still seated hobbit. 

**”This is the Arkenstone of Thráin,” said Bilbo, “the Heart of the Mountain; and it is also the heart of Thorin. He values it above a river of gold. I give it to you. It will aid you in your bargaining.”**

Thranduil was not appeased, though he noted the dismay and disappointment in the hobbit’s voice when he acknowledged the importance of the Arkenstone to Thorin. For an unknown reason, that only seemed to further enflame his fury. “That cursed gem is not yours to give, hobbit,” Thranduil growled. “No descendent of Thror would part with it, for any cause. In their twisted minds it proves their right to rule above all, and force subjugation upon others on their whims.”

**”O well!” said the hobbit uncomfortably. “…I am willing to let it stand against all my claim, don’t you know. I may be a burglar – or so they say; personally I never really felt like one – but I am an honest one, I hope, more or less. Anyway I am going back now, and the dwarves can do what they like to me. I hope you will find it useful.”**

That admission finally dampened Thranduil’s anger. Surely, the hobbit wasn’t seriously considering returning to the Mountain? He would be tortured and then killed for this betrayal. And yet, the Elf King could see that Bilbo fully intended to do just that. Yet another meaningless death. A poor reward for a being simply, desperately trying to keep the peace, regardless of the personal costs. 

Suddenly Thranduil’s wrath disappeared entirely, leaving him heart-achingly tired. He shook his head as he looked down at the hobbit before him with new wonder, willing Bilbo to see reason, to stay where he would be _safe_ and protected. **”Bilbo Baggins! You are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it. But I wonder if Thorin Oakenshield will see it so. I have more knowledge of dwarves in general than you have perhaps. I advise you to remain with us, and here you shall be honoured and thrice welcome.”**

**”Thank you very much I am sure,” said Bilbo with a bow.** And Thranduil’s heart gave a jolt of despair, for he could tell that Bilbo was set on his path… **”But I don’t think I ought to leave my friends like this, after all we have gone through together. And I promised to wake old Bombur at midnight, too! Really I must be going, and quickly.”**

… a path that would only lead to his own death. Picturing that small body bloody and beaten, thinking of the stubbornly noble spirit he saw before him lost forever from the world – Thranduil could only bow his head in silent grief at such a waste, for he knew he would not be meeting Bilbo Baggins again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. Work has pretty much claimed any and all free time. In addition to my usual work load, I've been assigned to help another office on a project that really needs at least 10 more people assigned to it than are currently. Thank you for your patience, and all the kudos and comments received so far!! 
> 
>  
> 
> _Disclaimer: I don’t own them. I’m not making money from them._
> 
>  
> 
> **Bold text are direct quotes – or nearly so – from “The Hobbit”**

Just before midday, Thranduil joined with Bard and Gandalf to make one final call to Thorin, this time with the Arkenstone as ransom. The Elf King doubted it would have any effect, save perhaps a negative one, on the dwarf’s desire to treat with them. In any case, his elves had finished their preparations and were ready to depart on his orders. He was tired of dealing with dwarves and Men and wizards and strange little hobbits that threatened to uncage emotions he had long since barriered away deep in his soul. 

He disinterestedly watched the proceedings, which started much as had every other attempt to reason with the dwarf. Then Bard revealed the Arkenstone and Thranduil stiffened, drawing the attention of Gandalf, as he saw the thunderous wrath appear on Thorin’s face when he saw the Arkenstone in his supposed enemies’ hands.

**”How came you by it?” shouted Thorin in gathering rage.**

Thranduil’s eyes closed, resigned, when the hobbit spoke up. **”I gave it them!” squeaked Bilbo,** and Thranduil whispered under his breath, “You little fool.”

Elven fists tightened, whitening knuckles as Thorin grabbed the hobbit, shaking him furiously. **”You! You! You miserable hobbit! You undersized – burglar! By the beard of Durin! I wish I had Gandalf here! Curse him for his choice of you! May his beard wither! As for you, I will throw you to the rocks!”**

A growl left Thranduil, and he moved forwards, compelled to speak and attempt to stay Thorin’s hand. Just as he opened his mouth, however, Gandalf finally revealed himself. **”Stay! Your wish is granted!”** he shouted as he threw off the hood and cloak which had disguised him to that point. **”Here is Gandalf! And none too soon it seems. If you don’t like my Burglar, please don’t damage him. Put him down, and listen first to what he has to say!”**

 **”You all seem in league!” said Thorin, dropping Bilbo on the top of the wall.**

Thranduil relaxed only slightly when Bilbo stumbled safely away from the King Under the Mountain. A small gesture of his hand, unnoticed by Men or dwarves, called his archers to stand ready. His kin were among Arda’s finest marksmen. Even from where they waited, safely beyond the range of any dwarven arrows, he was assured that they would bring down the foolish dwarf lord on Thranduil’s mark. Thorin would not be allowed to harm the hobbit.

**”Never again will I have dealings with any wizard or his friends. What have you to say, you descendant of rats?”**

“Considering the depths to which your own sire and grandsire sank, Thorin son of Thrain, I do not believe that you have any cause to disparage this noble hobbit’s lineage,” Thranduil spoke, glaring up at Thorin.

Thorin snarled in rage, but before he could speak Bilbo interrupted. **”Dear me! Dear me! I am sure this is all very uncomfortable. You may remember saying that I might choose my own fourteenth share! Perhaps I took it too literally – I have been told that dwarves are sometimes politer in word than in deed. The time was, all the same, when you seemed to think that I had been of some service. Descendent of rats, indeed! Is this all the service of you and your family that I was promised, Thorin? Take it that I have disposed of my share as I wished, and let it go at that!”**

**”I will,” said Thorin grimly. “And I will let you go at that – and may we never meet again!” Then he turned and spoke over the wall. “I am betrayed,” he said. It was rightly guessed that I could not forbear to redeem the Arkenstone, the treasure of my house...”**

Thranduil paid no mind to the rest of the dwarf’s overly dramatic whining, instead moving to stand by the wall below where Bilbo was being lowered. He scoffed at the hobbit’s friendly goodbye to the rest of his former companions, apparently holding them no ill will even though none of them, cowards all, saw fit to defend him against their king.

He helped to steady Bilbo when he reached the ground, then untied the rope from about his waist. As they moved back towards Bard and Gandalf, Thranduil moved to keep his own body between the hobbit and the traitorous dwarves lest Thorin decide to follow through on the threats he was still spewing.

Then Bard stepped forward, and called up to the dwarves, **“We will give you until tomorrow. At noon we will return, and see if you have brought from the hoard the portion that is to be set against the stone. If that is done without deceit, then we will depart, and the elf-host will go back to the Forest. In the meanwhile, farewell!”**

As the group moved back towards their armies, Thranduil turned a frosty glare onto the Man walking at his side. “You had no right to speak for me and mine, Bard of Lake Town. Well you know that I have no plans to stay here, waiting on the doorstep of Erebor for its King to show acumen he does not have.”

“Please, my Lord,” Bard replied, “delay your departure but one more day. Thorin has already agreed to pay out our fair share of the dragon’s treasure.”

“You are foolish to expect honor from a dwarf; particularly one of the line of Durin. They care only for their gold and their gemstones. He is no doubt even now conspiring with his kin, seeking a way to keep both his gold and his stone.”

“Please,” Bard repeated as they reached the front lines, but Thranduil would hear no more talk of making war for gold.

“My elves and I depart within the hour,” he spoke, interrupting Bard. “I wish you the best of luck in your dealings with Erebor, but that is all the aid I will give you in this matter.”

Bard’s face turned sour at this pronouncement, and he sketched an insultingly shallow bow as he took his leave. “As you will. But know that when we do gain our treasure from the dwarves, you will have forsaken any claim of the elves of Mirkwood on any part of it with your departure.”

“Gold provides neither food nor warmth, human. Nor will it bring those lost back to life. I will not risk the lives of my people so lightly.”

With that Thranduil turned his back to Bard, meeting the gaze of the hobbit that stood by Mithrandir’s side, his agitated fidgeting making his discomfort obvious.

“You are welcome to join us, Mister Baggins. We would see you safely through Eryn Galen, though you are welcome to stay for a time in our palace and rest before continuing on if you so desire.”

“Oh. Oh, my,” the hobbit stuttered, not meeting Thranduil’s piercing eyes. “That… that is very kind of you, your Majesty. But… I would not feel… right. Abandoning my Company. Before the true end of our adventure.”

Thranduil stiffened, his eyes going cold. “It seems to me that your _Company_ ,” he sneered, “has decided that you have reached the end.”

Bilbo winced, and Thranduil felt a glimmer of guilt. But he did not doubt that Thorin would make good upon his promise, should he find Bilbo anywhere near Erebor. Thranduil would not allow Bilbo’s pure, loyal heart to bring him to his death.

“Thorin Oakenshield is not one to make idle threats, Mister Baggins. Should you two cross paths again, he will kill you.” Thranduil ignored another wince from the hobbit, determinedly continuing, “I would not see your life end thusly. Please, let us escort you to Eryn Galen. There you will be safe to linger and decide upon your future course.”

Finally, Bilbo met the elf King’s eyes, his own large blue eyes filled with pain and dismay. As two small tears escaped them, Thranduil promised himself that he would see Erebor pay for each and every tear shed by this virtuous being.

Placing a hand softly on Bilbo’s shoulder, Thranduil sought to comfort him. “All will be well. There are still those of us who consider you a friend, and welcome your presence. I know it is hard, but you must not give up hope.”

The absurdity of the situation – he, who had given up hope years before, counseling another not to do the same – was not lost on Thranduil. Still, the very thought of such a bright, courageous light dimming was one he could not bear.

They were interrupted by Legolas and Tauriel, who both gazed curiously down at the hobbit while they reported to their king. “We are ready to depart, my Lord,” Tauriel informed him with a bow.

“Thank you, Captain. Send your troops forward. I will join you shortly.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she replied, moving towards the front of the assembled elves, a piercing whistle bringing the entirety of them to attention.

Thranduil turned back to Bilbo. “Well, Mister Baggins? Will you do us the honor?”

Legolas shifted his attention between Thranduil and Bilbo, unsure of what his Father was offering. Bilbo himself bit on his lip as he looked up at Thranduil, then over to Mithrandir, eyes full of uncertainty.

“It might be for the best, dear Bilbo,” Mithrandir counseled, a gentle if slightly sad smile on his face. “Remove yourself from the scene of the crime, as it were, and give Thorin time to come to his senses.” Thranduil had to suppress a rather rude snort at that – as if the dwarf had had any sense in the first place. “And give yourself time to heal, rest, and regain your strength before deciding upon the next leg of your journey.”

“Very… very well,” Bilbo agreed hesitantly. “If you’re sure… it won’t be too much trouble? Your Majesty?”

“It would be no trouble at all, Mister Baggins,” Thranduil assured him, ignoring the shocked look that appeared upon his son’s face when he realized the situation.

“All right then. Thank you. For the offer,” the hobbit replied. Nodding his head as he looked shyly up at the elven King.

“You are quite welcome.” Thranduil then gestured towards Legolas. “Allow me to introduce my son and heir, Legolas. Legolas, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

His son smiled down at Bilbo, giving a shallow bow in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Baggins.”

“Oh! Please, just Bilbo, Prince,” the hobbit replied, becoming flustered. “Please, both of you,” he continued, looking up at Thranduil, “Bilbo is more than fine. You are royalty, after all. And I am a simple hobbit.”

Legolas’ smile grew quite a bit larger at that, and Thranduil felt his own lips tilt up in response to both his child’s delight and the hobbit’s amusing mannerism. “Then you may call me Legolas.”

“I couldn’t!” Bilbo cried in shock.

“I insist,” was Legolas’ retort. “I will accept no other answer but your agreement, or you will hear nothing but Mister Baggins from me.”

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed as he considered Legolas. Thranduil was tempted to cut in and assure the hobbit that his son was absolutely serious in his declaration, but found it more pleasing to watch the scene play out on its own.

“Very well,” Bilbo finally agreed, “if you insist.”

“And I do,” Legloas cut in cheekily, his hand moving slightly towards the hobbit in what Thranduil would have been willing to bet would have been an attempt at ruffling Bilbo’s golden curls had the hobbit not narrowed his eyes further and taken a step back from his son.

“Legolas,” Thranduil spoke, bringing the attention of both to himself, “please see to it that Bilbo is adequately equipped for the journey back to Eryn Galen.”

“Of course, Father,” Legolas agreed, his smile never leaving his face. “Come, Bilbo. Let us prepare you for the journey ahead.”

“That was kind of you, to offer such hospitality to dear Bilbo,” Mithrandir murmured as they watched the Prince lead the hobbit off.

“The poor thing has been ill-used by his so-called companions,” Thranduil replied, starting to make his way towards the front of the slowly moving elven formations.

“Still, it is unlike you to concern yourself with the affairs of those not under your rule, King Thranduil.”

“We might not be as wise or noble as your precious Noldar, Mithrandir,” Thranduil spat, knowing full well the low opinions most held in regards to he and his subjects, “but even we dislike seeing an innocent suffer for sins not his own.”

The wizard held up both hands at that. “Peace, o King. I meant no offense. Your interest in Bilbo merely caught me off guard.”

A sudden shout brought the conversation to a stop. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” one of Tauriel’s lieutenants shouted as he sprinted towards Thranduil. “Orcs! And wargs! An army of them is approaching from the North!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People seem to forget that it was Bard that was anxious to attack the dwarves when Dain showed up. Thranduil insisted they wait rather than start a war for gold - granted, he immediately followed that up by saying that if it **did** come to war, they would be able to beat the dwarves by sheer numbers, so immediately attacking wasn't necessary...


End file.
